being a good listener | The Overeducated Housewife

I woke up this morning at about 4:30am. It’s not uncommon for me to wake up early, especially this time of year. In Germany, we get a lot of sunlight in the summer– a lot more than we get in the States. The sun rises super early and doesn’t set until about 9:30 or 10:00pm. Consequently, I wake sooner than I should have to, and often end up reading the news, which makes me wake up even more.

Once again, I read more about the insane state of the world. A friend shared a couple more articles about the importance of face mask wearing. I just wrote about that yesterday, and I don’t really want to write about it again today… and yet it’s on my mind and I feel compelled. I think the masks are becoming symbolic of the overall mood we’re all in these days. A lot of people are stressed out, angry, and scared. There’s a lot of yelling and opining going on, but not much listening. People on both sides of the spectrum– whether it’s about politics or public health– are feeling fed up. It feels like the whole western world is throwing a huge temper tantrum.

COVID-19 is the icing on the “shit” cake that is Donald Trump’s presidency. On the liberal side, there are many vocal cheerleaders for mask wearing. They plead, cajole, lecture, virtue signal, and when that doesn’t work, insult the non mask wearers, mostly assumed to be Trump supporters. The non mask wearers, who are often conservatives, respond defiantly and angrily. The volume level grows ever more shrill, even on social media. No one is stopping to take a deep breath and consider the other sides of the issues. Instead, many people devolve into trading personal insults, which after awhile prove challenging for even the most reasonable person to resist. And instead of being convinced to change their minds about the issues, people come away from those interactions even more stubbornly entrenched in their views.

I have not made it a secret that I am not a fan of the face masks. However, I don’t begrudge other people’s views on mask wearing. And I don’t go out in public very often at all, so I am not putting anyone at risk by not wearing a mask. I have literally only been in a public place once since March 14th. For the very brief time I was in public back in April, I did wear a mask. I hated every minute of that experience and decided I’d rather just stay home. So, until today, that’s what I have been doing. Today, I will go out, because tomorrow is my birthday, and Bill wants to take me away for the weekend. However… to be honest, I’m more nervous than excited about it. I kind of don’t want to go.

Staying home hasn’t totally shielded me from the hostility of the world. It’s my own fault for being on social media, and I have been considering getting off of it… I’ve also been thinking about making this blog private, mainly because I’m finding it harder to deal with people anymore. Many, many people, who probably aren’t really as mean they appear to be on Facebook, are coming off as unkind and unreasonable. In the last few weeks, the couple of times I have left comments for friends that weren’t the “popular” viewpoint, I have been attacked by complete strangers who have called me names, made unflattering assumptions about my character, and are not at all interested in having a civilized conversation.

This morning, I found two Facebook posts about face masks shared within the same hour by a friend. One article, inflammatorily titled “A Mask is a Stupid Hill to Die on, America“, pretty much illustrates my theory about why some people are being so stubborn. In that article by John Pavlovitz, I found the following:

*Personally, I found these statements offensive… and that made me disinclined to be swayed by Mr. Pavolovitz’s impassioned writing.*

First of all, I’m definitely not a narcissist. If I were a narcissist, I’d be out in public, brazenly breaking the rules and defiantly protesting the masks. But, as I wrote above, I’ve been staying home for the past three months and have gotten to the point at which an idea that used to excite me– going somewhere and staying in a hotel– actually has me feeling scared and nervous. Seeing people wearing masks doesn’t make it better. It’s just a visual reminder of what we’ve lost over the past few years.

I’m not even that afraid of getting sick. COVID-19 is pretty well controlled in Germany, and people here are very respectful in terms of doing what is necessary to control the spread of the virus. I just feel very anxious about being out and about… and that makes me feel angry and resentful. I feel like most of the things that I enjoy… things that make life worth living– have been suddenly taken away. I don’t enjoy life that much as it is, so this pandemic makes it worse. And having some blogger who doesn’t even know anything about me assume that I’m a narcissist because I’m not on the mask bandwagon is very offensive to me. I’m not inclined to change my mind after reading his piece. But I don’t think he wrote it for me, anyway. I think it was written for those who are already believers and want to cast shame on those who don’t feel the same way they do. They feel better for reading and sharing it, even if the person who wrote it really didn’t do much to change hearts and minds as much as he vented.

And secondly, I think anyone who reads this blog or follows me on Facebook knows how I feel about Donald Trump. I probably don’t need to write much more about that. I think he’s a vile scumbag who has made this situation so much worse than it really needed to be. I resent him, too.

I was glad, at least, to see that Mr. Pavlovitz added this last bit to his post:

Note: Obviously, people with health conditions and PTSD which make wearing a mask difficult or impossible are exempt from this piece. (The rest of you know who you are.)

Even if you do have a condition that makes wearing a mask difficult or impossible, you’re still going to be confronted, harassed, and expected to explain yourself. Never mind that many people prefer not to tell strangers about their health. I mean, in the USA, doctors aren’t even allowed to discuss their patients’ health conditions with other doctors unless they get permission. But I’m expected to explain– to any stranger who confronts me and demands to know why I’m not wearing a mask– that I have asthma, or another condition that would make the mask difficult to wear. And even then, it’s not likely the other person would believe me anyway.

My Facebook friend shared another article on Market Watch about an hour after she shared John Pavlovitz’s piece. This one, entitled “Why do so many Americans refuse to wear face masks? Politics is part of it — but only part”. Against my better judgment, I read that article, too. I almost left my friend a comment, but then remembered what happened a couple of weeks ago, when I made the mistake of opining about another article she shared in which someone was being called a “Karen”… I think it was one about Amy Cooper. I also have the unpopular opinion that Amy Cooper isn’t necessarily a racist for calling the cops on birder Christian Cooper, nor do I think it’s appropriate to ruin her life over that incident. Two different people, complete strangers to me, automatically jumped down my throat because I didn’t agree with them. Since those arguments took place, I’ve seen even more evidence that Amy Cooper isn’t actually a racist so much as she’s someone with a “high conflict personality”. In other words, she’s probably kind of an asshole to everyone… not just people of color. Or so it appears from that article, anyway.

Since tomorrow is my birthday, I don’t want to get into an argument with anyone today. So I deleted what I wrote on my friend’s second article about face masks. It’s kind of a shame that I felt the need to do that, since I think the purpose of sharing news articles is to generate discussion. My thoughts were formed after reading the comments on the Market Watch’s piece linked above. The comments people left were almost all hostile and disrespectful, on either side of the argument. Again… lots of people feel fine about “loudly” sharing their views, but they aren’t at all interested in considering what the other side thinks. They’ve made up their minds, have collectively folded their arms, toughened their stances, keep parroting the same lines over and over again, and have closed their ears to anything else. So what’s the point of sharing an opinion?

That attitude is what makes people want to rebel. I could easily share some of the comments on the Market Watch piece here, but there are just so many of them, and reading them is depressing. Even the ones I agree with are stated with so much indignation and disrespect that I just don’t even want to go there.

People keep preaching about mask wearing. They have less to say about hand washing, which is even more important when it comes to arresting disease transmission. But it’s easy to see the mask, and so it seems a lot easier to enforce. It makes some people feel better when people wear them. Others, like me, are creeped out by them. We’re told to “get over it and get used to it” because “this is the new normal”. Our concerns are deemed silly or unimportant. I’ve been treated this way my whole life by my loved ones, so now, when I get the same treatment, especially from strangers on the Internet, I feel the need to either rebel or ponder how I can make a quick exit from the world.

Adding to this conflict is the fact that Americans have often been encouraged to think for themselves, do their own research, and not be “sheep”. Coronavirus has only been a worldwide issue for a few months. Even the leaders don’t know what they’re doing. Consider these two conflicting tweets from the U.S. Surgeon General, anesthesiologist Jerome Adams:

Now… this isn’t to say that the masks aren’t useful. But consider that it was only a few months ago that the Surgeon General was imploring people in all caps to “STOP BUYING MASKS”. He’s supposed to know what he’s doing. His advice completely changed in a span of three months. Remember what I wrote about seatbelts. It took YEARS to get the majority of people to wear them consistently. I suspect there will be people who will never be willing to wear the masks, just like some people still don’t buckle up in the car. For some reason, this morning when I was talking to Bill about this, I was reminded of prisoners in chains going out in the “free world” for whatever reason. They’re out in the world– but they’re wearing chains because they must. Maybe that’s why some people feel oppressed by the masks, even though they’re worn for public health reasons. People don’t like to be told they “must” do something, especially when it involves wearing something on their own bodies, even if it’s for their own or the common good. They want to rebel, no matter how many times you explain to them why you’re “right”.

I don’t see this issue as the same as “no shirt, no shoes, no service”, either. The convention to wear shirts and shoes in public has been part of the culture for many years, and besides, going without them would often be physically uncomfortable. Masks are very new, and they are uncomfortable… and they are a constant reminder of how shitty things are right now. I don’t want to wear a mask in exchange for the “privilege” of going out, especially when so many people don’t seem to be folks I’d want to be around, anyway. Seriously… people are pissed off. They are right to be pissed. The world is full of suck right now. But I have enough angst without adding to it by being around people who are angry, hostile, and demanding.

Anyway… I could write more about this topic. In fact, I have another related topic that I wanted to write about today. But our new guitars arrived yesterday, so I think I’m going to stop here and practice. At least I’m using the pandemic to pick up a new skill… and the beauty of that is that at this point, no one wants to hear me play guitar anyway.

This morning, a friend and former co-worker shared an interesting article from the Huffington Post about how to talk to a grieving friend. The author of the piece, Celeste Headlee, writes that one of her friends had lost her dad. Headlee found her sitting on a bench outside their workplace. She was staring at the horizon, not moving or speaking. Headlee wanted to help, but didn’t know what to say. She thought about how she’d grown up without her father. He’d drowned in a submarine when Headlee was nine months old. Even though she’d never known him, she had grieved for him.

Headlee thought she was commiserating and sympathizing with her friend, letting her know that she “knew how she felt”. But when she was finished speaking, her friend snapped, “Okay, Celeste, you win. You never had a dad, and I at least got to spend 30 years with mine. You had it worse. I guess I shouldn’t be so upset that my dad just died.”

Headlee was taken aback by her friend’s reaction. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had flipped the situation to be about her. She thought she was showing solidarity in relating that story about her dad. But Headlee’s friend was grieving and raw with pain. She didn’t want to hear about her friend’s grief. At that time, she needed love and support and someone who was actively listening to her and responding with kindness.

People do this all the time. I’ve done it. I’m sure you’ve done it. You hear someone talking about how they’re in pain because of some kind of misfortune. Instead of simply listening quietly and offering support, many of us feel compelled to say “me too”. There is a time for “me too” and there is a time when “me too” isn’t appropriate. If someone is looking for love and support, they don’t need to hear about how you’ve been hurt, too. At least not at that moment. Maybe later, you can have a talk about your mutual experiences. But when the pain is raw and the loss is new, it’s better to save that sob story for later. It can seem like one-upmanship, or even worse, flat out narcissism.

Still, I understand how hard it is to save that story. I like to tell stories myself. I will admit that in the months since we lost Zane, I’ve responded to posts about others who have also lost their dogs to lymphoma by commiserating. Cancer sucks. Canine cancer really sucks. I still miss Zane every day, although I’m not grieving like I was in September. What I usually try to do is express condolences, wishes for peace and comfort, and support first, even if I slip in a “commiserating” comment last. But after reading this article, I think maybe the best thing to say is simply “I’m sorry. How can I help?” or “If you need anything, let me know.”

No matter what, though, I try very hard never to say “I know just how you feel.” Some time ago, I realized that it’s impossible for me to know how another person feels or what they’re thinking, no matter what. I only know how I feel and what I think. I can only speak for myself. I don’t even know if the person next to me sees the color blue the same way I do. I don’t know if they hear music the way I do. I don’t know if they experience a cool breeze or a hot shower the way I do. I can assume they do, but I don’t know for sure. I can only guess.

Even if someone seems overwhelmed by excitement or completely down in the dumps due to some kind of loss, I truly don’t know how they feel. I know how I might feel in that situation, but even then, if I’m not experiencing it and haven’t lived their lives, I really don’t know. I know how I felt when my father died, but I don’t know how my cousin felt when her dad/my uncle died. My uncle and I got along better than my dad and I did, and I was a bit sadder about his death than I was when my dad died. It’s not that I wished death on my father, although in many ways, I think it was a blessing. My dad had Lewy Body Dementia, which is a horrible, progressive, cruel disease that robs people of their sanity and independence. My cousin’s dad/my uncle had a major stroke and was relatively active and independent until two weeks before he died.

Which death was “sadder”? I guess it depends on how you look at it. My dad lived longer, but his quality of life wasn’t as good. He spent the last six years of his life totally dependent on my mom. My uncle was out and about when he had his stroke. Death came for him in a matter of two weeks. For my dad, it was years. Maybe it’s sadder that my uncle died the way he did because it was so sudden. A year ago, he was still alive and there was no reason to believe he’d be dead within seven months. With my dad, death was also kind of sudden. He’d had emergency gallbladder surgery and was unable to recover from the anesthesia. If he hadn’t had the surgery, he probably still would have died because the gallbladder was very inflamed and infected. Maybe death would have come sooner and been more painful. Either way, it was bound to happen.

My cousin was a total “Daddy’s girl” and she was very close to her dad. My dad and I weren’t very close, even though I believe we loved each other. I cried only a little when he died, and if I’m honest, I don’t miss him much. He and I fought a lot, and he was frequently abusive to me. I know he was a basically good person, but he had a lot of demons and, unfortunately, I got the brunt of the consequences related to his untreated depression, alcoholism, and PTSD. My uncle, on the other hand, was funny, laid back, and for the most part, just a wonderful, generous guy. It helped that I didn’t live with him, either. If I had lived with him, maybe I’d feel differently… although I kind of doubt that. He was my favorite relative, and I think we had a special relationship. Still, it was not the same relationship he had with my cousin, and my cousin and I are totally different people. I don’t know how she feels about his death. She doesn’t know how I feel about his death, or my dad’s death.

My three older sisters probably feel differently about our dad. I have a feeling my eldest sister, especially, took his death hard. I think she was my dad’s favorite daughter. They did things together, spent time together, had the longest time together as father and daughter, and I know he admired and respected her for being successful and beautiful. I don’t think they fought much, mainly because she was the firstborn and strived for perfection in all things. Also, she moved out of the house when she was about seventeen and went to the Royal Ballet School in London. I, on the other hand, boomeranged back to my parents’ house until I was 27 years old and could finally move out for good. Even though we’re sisters, I don’t know how she feels about our dad. I only know how I feel.

Anyway… I think after reading that article, I’m going to try harder to be supportive and a good listener when someone is grieving or otherwise in pain. At the same time, I think there’s something to be said for those who try to be kind when someone is in pain. Even if they say the wrong thing, at least they tried. Unless it’s clear that they meant to be hurtful or a clod, I try to give them the benefit of the doubt. The only comment I got after Zane died that really hurt was when one of my relatives told me that Zane was now “in a better place”. While I know some people say that to mean he’s gone on to a better world, this particular relative has told me more than once that she’s an atheist, so she probably doesn’t believe in “better places”. And either way, saying that means she thinks that Zane is better off dead than with his loving family… which really is kind of shitty, even if it happens to be true. But this relative also told me, just after we lost our paternal grandmother, that she’d always suspected that I wasn’t my father’s biological daughter (which 23andme has now proven that I am). So I don’t go to her for comfort, anyway.

The most comforting beings in my life are my husband, who always knows what to say and do, and my dog(s), who also always know what to say and do. And even beyond the grave, Bill and I get comfort from Zane, too. In fact, Bill dreamt about him this morning… sitting in our living room in his young, healthy state, wagging his tail, shaking off, and letting Bill pet him before he awoke. Maybe he is in a better place now…. but he’s still with us in our hearts and dreams. But no one else knows how I feel about him, not even Bill.

The Overeducated Housewife

Just another boring blog about a boring housewife…

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“I know just how you feel…” uh, no you don’t.